Secondhand Robes

DISCLAIMER: Warning! I make no claim to any property of J.K. Rowling's, and am in no way profiting by this. I do offer her my sincerest thanks for allowing us this garden of the mind in which we play. Further Warning! This story...and likely any I ever write...are dominated by gay themes and characters. That’s how it is, if this in any way makes you uncomfortable...do not read further.


Secondhand Robes (part 7)…by Samayel

‘Potter likes me. Potter is gay. Potter is gay and likes me. He likes me ’that way’. Not just a little. Enough to dream about snogging me.’

Draco sat on the edge of his bed, looking at his reflection in the mirror across from him. Those thoughts had been snapping at his heels like a starving puppy since that night in the Astronomy Tower. If anyone else had heard them aloud, they would have laughed themselves sick, but never believed it.

It had been weeks, and the first holidays were almost upon them. Draco’s case at the Ministry hadn’t been resolved yet, and frankly, he had no choice but to stay at Hogwarts. It was an unpleasant notion to say the least. Staying behind was for the children whose families were dead, too busy to care about seeing their child, or in Draco’s case, imprisoned in Azkaban for collusion with the Dark Lord. The social ladder scarcely existed for such students, and Draco had shrouded his holiday plans in secrecy because of that.

Hogwarts life had been very different for Draco of late. Aside from having only slight difficulty with his reputation in Slytherin, his studies were going easily, his Quidditch game was well above par, and Snape had bequeathed him a very small weekly stipend that he could spend in Hogsmeade when the opportunity arose. There was nothing to complain about…except the Ministry, but that never changed.

The fly in the ointment was Potter. There was nothing wrong between them…and that itself felt wrong. Quite the opposite, they actually got on fairly well…for a Potter and a Malfoy. It was subtle, and scarcely noticeable to others, but very different from any other year.

When they passed one another in the halls, they had hidden smirks instead of sneers on their faces. Not motivated by cruel comments or disdain, but now fed by an ironic camaraderie and a faint mutual respect that grew week by week.

The subject on Draco’s mind never came up. His knowledge of Potter’s dream was a constant reminder of what he’d done, and the memory still shamed him. He wasn’t about to clumsily Obliviate himself and risk damaging his own brain, but there had been moments where he’d wished he could tell Snape everything, and beg to have it all taken from his mind.

Only Potter knew what that was like. It was one thing to suffer, it was another to watch someone else suffer as you have. What Harry had seen in Draco’s mind had haunted him until he’d been forced to act, trying to assuage his guilt. Draco had promptly suffered the same fate, and had only recently been able to sleep without Calming Potions or minor Charms that warded off nightmares.

The dreams had been horrifying in the extreme. Watching a child-Potter dehumanized and savagely beaten by his Muggle relations had made sleep almost impossible for the first couple weeks after their night in the Tower. He’d been forced to consult Harry, discreetly, about ways to cope with the memories and dreams.

The few times they’d actually spoken to one another, Harry’s dream was never mentioned, but it still loomed in Draco’s memory despite weeks having passed. The conversations had been pleasant enough, though, and Potter had seemed genuinely helpful.

Draco sighed and looked at his mirror again. The boy in the mirror looked healthier and happier than he had two months before, and his skin had much better color, but there was still something gnawing at Draco’s sense of comfort and contentment. For once…it wasn’t money or power. Unfortunately, it was Potter.

Draco had been quite comfortable with his sexuality, or rather, the lack of it. He’d snogged Pansy Parkinson, without gagging, a couple of times, and then Queenie Greengrass, and finally Blaise Zabini last year, but it could all be attributed to the rather excessive nature of Slytherin parties.

He’d never had a real girlfriend, and hadn’t really wanted one. He liked Blaise well enough, but it had been a game of truth or dare, not an intentional snog, rooted in actual desire. He couldn’t really recall wanting a boyfriend either. At least, not consciously.

He was completely at peace with the notion of bisexuality…Slytherin was likely the most sexually advanced House in Hogwarts, and liberal views regarding sex partners was par for the course. What seemed vaguely filthy and perverted to Draco…was lusting after Potter. Perhaps that was part of what made it so enticing?

The Boy Who Lived…dreamed about Draco Malfoy, and now…Draco Malfoy dreamed about Harry Potter. It wasn’t anything Draco had planned, which instantly set him against the notion, but in the cold light of reason, Potter wasn’t really that bad of a catch. A penniless Death Eater’s son could do a lot worse than Potter, after all.

Draco huffed in frustration. Mooning about over Potter! Hmmph! It had become a nightly ritual, often followed by another nightly ritual…the obligatory pre-sleep wank, which Harry had invaded like an ant colony, overwhelming all opposition by sheer presence and persistence. It’s hard to ignore someone when their face, their eyes, and their voice keep creeping into your ‘private time’, and Harry had done just that.

Draco had finally made up his mind. Potter needed sorting out…and they would have a full week without classes, and scarcely more than a few classmates, in the way of their spending time together. There would never be a better window of opportunity to…to…

‘Sweet fucking Merlin. I’m going to ask Harry Potter for a date. Note to self: ask Snape for a very thorough mental and psychological exam…soon!’

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Harry strolled serenely though Hogwarts’ halls. Despite a rough start, this had been a fairly decent year so far. His issues with Draco were largely resolved, NEWTS level classes were keeping him busy, no one had tried to kill him yet…all in all, a pretty great year really.

Of course, it didn’t take much to top the previous year. Tortured by that mad, fat, old cow Umbridge, no Quidditch, and Sirius getting killed at the Ministry meant that, essentially, Harry could spend this entire year dipped in dragon dung and lit on fire…and it would still be better than the last one.

The best part of his general good humor came from getting on well with Draco. In spite of all that Harry had expected, Draco hadn’t teased him or insulted him about the dream…and still occasionally talked to him, although it was always rather business-like. It certainly beat trading insults constantly.

Harry knew that nothing more would come of it, and if he didn’t exactly have a friend in Draco, he didn’t have an enemy anymore, and that counted for a lot. Would he want more if he thought it was possible? Maybe…but something like that seemed like a glimpse of another universe, with some impossible distance between that place and where Harry stood now.

He planned to spend his holiday at Grimmauld Place with the rest of the Order. He hadn’t been back to the Dursleys, and likely never would be. Anywhere he went was better than there.

Harry paused. He’d been so busy just living, that he’d never considered what his childhood would look like to someone else. It was frightening to think that the things in his head had hurt Malfoy so much. Draco had never said it, but it passed unspoken between them that Draco’s sleeping problems were rooted in the memories he’d witnessed in Harry’s mind. Somehow, it just made him hate the Dursleys more than ever.

It hadn’t seemed that bad when he’d thought it was just ‘the way things were’, but Harry knew better now, and he’d never let anyone like them hurt him that way again.

It also occurred to Harry that, after all his misgivings, the one thing that made him think of Draco as a person, and a decent one at that, was Draco’s reaction to what he’d seen. Sure, Draco had only seen those things by violating Harry’s mind, but there was nothing feigned about Draco’s behavior afterwards. Until that night, he wouldn’t have believed that Draco was capable of sincerity…or even basic kindness for that matter, but Draco had surprised him in a lot of ways. There was a lot more beneath that peacock-vain, strutting surface than most people would ever know, and Harry was proud to be one who knew that there was more.

‘Speak of the devil, and he appears.’

Draco was on his way down the hall, smirk firmly in place, confident swagger in his step, and his eyes brightened just a bit when he saw Harry coming the other way.

“Potter, we need to talk. Got a few minutes?” It was still so odd to hear a question from Malfoy that wasn’t laced with venom.

“Yeah, sure. Where?”

“Spare classroom, this floor, end of the hall just before the stairs. No one uses that one, so it should be safe enough.”

Since there was no one else in the hall with them, they walked together, still silent, but Harry was being eaten alive by curiosity. The couple of minutes walk felt more like hours.

Once they were safe behind a locked and silenced door, Draco found a seat and took it, beckoning for Harry to do the same. When Harry was seated and facing him Draco coughed and launched into what felt vaguely like a rehearsed speech, right down to his haughty and peremptory tone.

“Sorry to drag you off so suddenly, but I have a question, or rather, a proposition for you. We get on well enough these days, right?” Harry nodded, uncertain about where this was going.

“Likewise, we’ve got a bit more in common than we thought as it turns out, and there are a few things we really haven’t talked about as much as we could have.”

Harry felt panic creep up. ‘Oh God! He’s going to talk about the dream. He’s not comfortable around me because of it. He wants to stop talking altogether. Fuck! I barely know him…why does it feel like I just got punched in the stomach? Why?’

“Anyhow, I was just thinking that conversation goes a lot better with some good food and drink, and if you a had a free night sometime before the holidays, we could slip into town and just have a bit to eat together while we talked. Sound any good?”

“Mrrphl.”

“How’s that? I wasn’t sure if that was a yes or a no?” Draco looked a little worried.

Harry got control of himself and let a single explosive breath out. “Yes…yes…that’s great! I’d love to…any night you want.” He stopped talking before he wound up sounding any giddier.

“So…Friday night, maybe you could meet me at the Three Broomsticks…about seven o‘clock? I’ve got a bit saved up, so this one’s my treat…game?” Draco relaxed visibly.

“Yeah! It’s done. I’ll meet you there…umm, I have to hurry, study session with ‘Mione. Advanced Transfiguration and all, but I’ll see you there.” Harry begged off as quick as possible, anything would be better than transfiguring himself into a gibbering moron in front of Draco right now.

They parted company and went their separate ways. When Harry made it close enough to Gryffindor tower to be sure of a modicum of privacy, he snapped out of his daze and let loose a war whoop that would have made a homicidal Celt cringe in fear. All the way to his room, Harry’s mind rang with a simple mantra.

‘Draco Malfoy likes me. The way I like him. I have a date…with Draco Malfoy. Life is perfect!’


TBC